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Bulwer/Lytton Fiction Contest 2001
Grand Prize Winning Entries 1983 -2001
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The Works of Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Grand Prize 2001: A small assortment of astonishingly loud brass instruments raced each other lustily to the respective ends of their distinct musical choices as the gates flew open to release a torrent of tawny fur comprised of angry yapping bullets that nipped at Desdemona's ankles, causing her to reflect once again (as blood filled her sneakers and she fought her way through the panicking crowd) that the annual Running of the Pomeranians in Liechtenstein was a stupid idea. Sera Kirk, Vancouver, British Columbia
The Bulwer/Lytton Fiction Contest was conceived to honor the memory of Victorian novelist Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton, encourage word play, and promote the universal improvement of mankind, the contest challenges entrants to compose bad opening sentences to imaginary novels. Bulwer was selected as patron of the competition because he opened his novel Paul Clifford (1830) with the immortal words, "It was a dark and stormy night." Lytton is also responsible for the line, "The pen is mightier than the sword," and the expression "the great unwashed." His best known work is probably The Last Days of Pompeii.
This year's contest again drew thousands of entries from the United States and Canada and from such international locales as England, Ireland, Scotland, Denmark, Sweden, Switzerland, France, Portugal, Israel, Australia, New Zealand, Malaysia, India, West Africa, South Africa, Singapore, and China.
Contest judging took on a new dimension this year. Instead of the usual panel of undistinguished judges drawn from academia, this year's judges consisted of last year's winner, Gary Dahl, and a group of Silicon Valley technical and marketing writers. To honor this change, the contest has inaugurated a new Silicon Valley category. Meanwhile, another collection of contest entries is on the drawing board (to use an inappropriate metaphor). The next will be fetchingly entitled, The Brothers Dark and Stormy.
Grand Prize Runner-Up:
The lone monarch butterfly flew
flutteringly through the cemetery, dancing on and glancing against headstone
after headstone before alighting atop Willie Mitchell's already lowered casket,
causing gasps of awe to fly from the open mouths of five or six lingering
mourners, until a big shovelful of dirt landed on it and it died. Julie
Stangeland
Seal Beach, CA
Winner: Detective
The graphic crime-scene photo that stared up at Homicide Inspector Chuck Venturi from the center of his desk was not a pretty picture, though it could have been, Chuck mused, had it only been shot in soft focus with a shutter speed of 1/125 second at f 5.6 or so. Ms. Rephah Berg, Oakland CA
Winner: Fantasy
When the mightily-hewn warrior-hero Glark One-Ear, fed up with paying the tribute demanded by the despotic wizard Jormed-the-Doubly-Soulless, set out to single-handedly unite the warring barbarian tribes of Verfot and lead them in bloodily overthrowing the evil mage's tyranny, he envisioned a progressive tax system based upon income brackets, yet allowing deductions for business expenses, dependents, and charitable donations. Nicolas Juzda, Toronto Ontario Canada
Winner: Purple Prose
The wind attacked the house with a voracious appetite, lapping hungrily at the eaves, whipping the gutter refuse into a frothy shake of leaves and dirt, while rattling the slate shingles like an orphan banging his plate for more. Shauna Banta, Victoria, VA
Winner: Science Fiction
Kirk's mind raced as he quickly assessed his situation: the shields were down, the warp drive and impulse engines were dead, life support was failing fast, and the Enterprise was plummeting out of control toward the surface of Epsilon VI and, as Scotty and Spock searched frantically through the manuals trying to find a way to save them all, Kirk vowed, as he stared at the solid blue image filling the main view screen, that never again would he allow a Microsoft operating system to control his ship. Mike Rottmann Reno, Nevada
Dishonorable Mention:
Rodney knew that he was going to die a horrible, screaming, unspeakable death, when he arrived on the bridge in a uniform that did not match the others, was referred to only as "yeoman" and was to be sent planet side with Captain Kirk and the regular away team. Larry Ward Midland, MI
Winner: Western
Out of the killer cold of the forty-below unending Arctic night into the glowing warmth of the Last Ditch Saloon, we stumbled numbly, dragging behind us the frozen dead corpse of our friend, Bartholomew, whom the hardened permafrost of the tundra resisted our burying, and, leaning poor stiff Bart against a wall, gaily called out for drinks for the house, as we were flush with prospected gold that now only needed to be split two ways. Jeff Riopelle Dielsdorf, Switzerland
Dishonorable Mention:
"Hold your horses," exclaimed the durably dressed cowboy as the sharp scent of sweat dripping down his twenty-two-month-old chestnut mare's buttocks wafted through the arid air into his left nostril, past the fine cilia of his nose, through the nasal cavity and into the dark damp depths of his single emphysemic lung. Christopher Ditto Eugene, OR
Winner: Romance
"Alas," Vanessa sighed, "What can one do when one's relationship begins to stale in much the same way as a day-old cinnamon roll which was wrapped in wax paper rather than having been sealed in plastic, and can only be made remotely palatable for a very brief period when reheated for a few seconds in a microwave, after which it becomes even more revolting than it was in the first place?" Carol E. Scott Green Bay, WI
Winner: Vile Pun
Luigi knew deep down in the pits of his four stomachs that he and his fellow bovines on the island could no longer rely on the meager rations of electricity doled out to them by Farmer Pietro to stay warm, and he sought to convince the herd that the heat generated by a few hours of singing would give them the independence they sought, saying simply, "One day mooing heats our isle; I can beat Pete's supply--get some more hay!" Michael Knab Rockville, MD
Winner: Adventure
If it weren't for the knee-high sewage lapping at his dress pants and the confused terrorist spraying automatic gunfire over his head between loud, emotional outbursts in a language that sounded like someone choking on gravel, Johnson could see little reason to change his mind about the wisdom of registering at a two-star hotel. Bob Wakulich, British Columbia
Children's Literature:
"Terry the Tarantula and Wendy the Wasp were frolicking and cavorting together in the Flowery Meadow, ( as they were the best of friends in all the Enchanted Forest of Miggly-Wompsly) when, all of a sudden, and with no warning whatsoever, Wendy accidentally stabbed Terry with her stinger, making her very sad for she knew that soon her poison would paralyze her friend and after a while her eggs would hatch inside him, and then her happy wriggling larva would slowly eat him alive, but Terry tried to smile and would have told her not to be sad as this was how the Circle of Life was continued, but he was in too much pain and, as I mentioned before, paralyzed." Delano Lopez Washington, DC
Winner: Dark & Stormy Night Category
It was a dark and stormy night as Jacque the baker slogged through the black cheerless alleyways of Avignon, the cold Provencal rain soaking him to the bone, increasing his fury at having chosen the life of a bread maker, for the early hours truly went against his grain and it chaffed him that he trudged to work in wee hours of the morning while the rest of the world loafed in bed; what more proof did he need of his misery, why did he bother, surely it was not for the dough, exasperating as the rise and fall of the boulangerie's business might be, and suddenly he knew with conviction that he was, after all, just a gluten for punishment. James Bardsley Skillman, NJ
Winner--Special Silicon Valley Category:
The shattering news hit him like a blow to the solar plexus, and his adrenal glands prepared for a massive secretion of epinephrine and norepinephrine in the classic "fight or flight" response as he realized the truth-the mind-deadening months of toil, the endless Little Debbie Snack Cake-fueled late nights, the ingratiating compliments to the CEO's pubescent fourth wife, the obsequious pandering to the snide staff in Human Resources, the feigned interest in the Director of Purchasing's numbingly repetitive wing nut collection, the humiliating groveling to win the miniscule Withers-Grimes account, it had all been for nothing; Spivens, it seemed, would be getting the much-coveted translucent blue pencil sharpener. Diane S. Harvey, WI
Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest
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